


Recovery

by adamstanheightswhiteshirt



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Gen, Gore, Horror, Psychological Horror, Reverse bear trap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamstanheightswhiteshirt/pseuds/adamstanheightswhiteshirt
Summary: We know what happens to David in the original Saw short film, but what happens AFTER he escapes the Reverse Bear Trap? Thrown into a world of PTSD, anxiety, a police investigation, and shrouded by a constant fear of Jigsaw's return, join David on his journey towards recovery.DISCALIMER: All characters belong to Leigh Whannell & James Wan.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. So Little Time

_“David. David, you need to wake up.” he recognized that voice, it was his mother’s; he could hear her detached, lifeless tone surrounding him. He felt like he was swimming through darkness, unable to see anything around him and completely unaware of his surroundings. “David._ ** _Wake the_** **_fuck up_** _!” his mother says again, this time with anger yet she also sounded a bit more distant, like she was just out of reach. He didn’t really pay much mind to her words, not quite understanding why he needed to wake up, since he felt like he was already awake, but he felt an increasing sense of anxiety. “DAVID!” came her scream and a bright light pierced through the darkness…_

Dark eyes slowly roll open as a groan slips from David’s mouth, the man’s mind slowly pushing through its sleepy fog and waking up. Once blurry eyes fully adjusted, he was greeted with a sickly green light illuminating the room he currently sat in. Something cold was touching his lips, and he tasted metal tinged with blood, making him furrow his brows as that anxiety from moments ago returns full force. His movement is restricted due to being strapped to a chair, and his eyes start to register the device that was attached to his face, resulting in his heart skyrocketing into his throat, the pounding of it filling his ears. Fear takes over and he starts shaking his head, praying that whatever the fuck was attached to his face would go flying off, but it only resulted in his tongue being pierced and more blood flooding into his mouth. Another muffled noise passes by barely parted lips as he forces himself to stop moving and look around the room, his eyes searching for anything that could help him.

He was so preoccupied with looking around the room that he didn’t notice that there was a television to his left until it made a noise, making his head snap to the side in alarm. There was static on the screen for a few moments before some sort of doll/puppet thing appeared on the monitor, unmoving for several seconds before it slowly turned its head to look at David. He feels his skin prickles and unease flood his system, feeling like that damned thing was staring into his fucking soul, but then it starts _speaking_. When it speaks, a high pitched, chilling voice emerged from the speakers and filled the room, addressing David by his name, which sent a second chill down his spine, dark eyes wide and bloodshot from the stress he was experiencing. He listens to the video explain the trap, then gets told how long he has to live and that phrase triggers something in his memory:

_It’s another long day at work, the hospital corridors were always pretty deserted around the night shift as most patients were asleep and the nurses were able to take a breather at their stations, spilling gossip or getting some much needed rest in between rounds. David was cleaning up the room of one of their older patients, a woman in her 40s by the name of Dolores who had been admitted for fainting spells and severe head pain. His headphones rested around his neck seeing as he wasn’t allowed to wear them in the patient rooms, a smile on his face. David had grown quite close to Dolores during her stay at the hospital, and even though she’d only been there for a few days, he felt like he’d known her for much longer. She was one of the good parts of working at the hospital; always managing to get David to crack a smile even if he was in the foulest of moods. He was changing the bag in the garbage can beside the bed when a doctor entered the room, flanked by a few nurses. “Miss Bloom?” The doctor asks and Dolores looks over at him, giving a nod to confirm her identity. The doctor’s eyes briefly glance at David and he seems to decide that he can hear whatever he has to this woman before looking back at her. “Miss Bloom, you have a brain tumor, and it is cancerous. The tumor is attached to your frontal lobe, which explains the fainting and constant pain, and with the cancer being so aggressive, we cannot remove it. We can attempt chemotherapy, but the chances of regression are extremely slim. I’m sorry.” He says, sounding sad but David knew he was faking it, just giving Dolores what she wanted to hear. The woman doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, letting herself process the man’s words before she meets his gaze and asks one simple question: “How long?” “Two months.” he responds, giving her a sympathetic smile before leaving the room. Once he was gone, David tried not to stare at Dolores, who he knew was just sitting there staring blankly at the blanket; he couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was feeling. Being told you only had x amount of time left to live had to change a person’s world so drastically…_

The video cuts off after David is given the instructions on how to get out and he slips into pure panic mode, frantically whipping his head around as he tries to get his wrists free, his heart pounding in his chest. He yanks his arms upward and hears the tape binding his hands to the chair rip off, freeing his hands. He lets out a noise of joy before standing up, hearing something snap and then click: the timer had begun. The click of the timer had triggered another memory, one that David didn’t even realise he’d had buried deep within his mind:

_He was five years old, gripping his mother’s hand tightly as they sit in the visitor’s area of the local prison, men in jumpsuits and their families surrounding the little boy, who was pressing himself into his mother’s chest, absolutely terrified. The men here looked scary; many had tattoos or scars, some had missing teeth or long, matted hair and similar beards, and of course you had the muscled beasts that were scattered throughout the lanky figures. His own father was sat across from them at their little table, metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles, an angry, dead look in his eyes as he argues with David’s mother. He hated being here, hated being in this place with all these scary men; he just wanted to go home and be with his toys, where he knew it was safe._

David blinks and gives his head a shake, chasing away the memory; focus, David. A new wave of panic surges through him as he reaches back behind his head to feel the mechanism, get a feel for how it worked, but didn’t spend too long on it. His eyes roam the room once again and catch sight of a man laying on the ground, instantly identifying him as the man that puppet had mentioned in the video. Sitting beside the man on the floor was a scalpel, and David practically dives for it, gripping it in his fingers as he gets down on his knees, a crazed look in his eyes as he pulls up the man’s shirt to reveal a question mark painted on the stomach in black paint. David was about to cut into the man’s stomach but immediately freezes when the guys starts groaning and opens his eyes, confusion and fear shining in his eyes as frightened noises come from lips that were sewn shut. David starts freaking out internally, feeling as if he were going to be sick; he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t cut into this man, he was still ALIVE for fuck’s sake. But was he really wanting to risk his own life for this random stranger’s? No. He had to survive; he had to _win._

Tears fill David’s eyes as he tightens his grip on the scalpel, apologising to this man with his eyes before plunging the blade into the other’s stomach. A muffled scream of pain followed by an arched back ensue as David cuts into the flesh, spewing blood and stomach acid around him as he shoves a trembling hand into the man’s guts, feeling around for the key. The entire time he did this he had to fight back the urge to vomit, knowing he’d choke on it if he let it come up, breathing in through his nose and keeping his mind focused on the task at hand. He tips out the large intestine, feeling the key trapped within the organ and begins squeezing it through the tract, his hands completely soaked with blood as they tremble, and soon there is a glint of metal and he is holding the key. More hot tears begin to flow freely down David’s cheeks as he stands back up and reaches behind him, searching for the lock and shoving the key inside, twisting it until there was a click and the trap loosens, allowing him to rip it off his head and throw it onto the ground, watching it snap shut with a loud clang.

David falls to his knees, broken sobs ripping from his chest as trembling hands lift to touch his mouth, which was covered in blood. Sweat coated his skin as his entire body shakes, emotion after emotion pouring from his body as he sits there on the floor, trying to figure out what the hell he’d just been through. During his breakdown, he falls silent as he hears a squeaking noise coming from his left, making him slowly look over with wide eyes as that stupid puppet from earlier rides into the room on a tricycle. Even though it was just a puppet, it still sent a wave of fear through David’s system and he whimpers, nearly curling into himself as the puppet’s mouth opens and audio comes out: “Congratulations. You are still alive. Most people are so ungrateful to be alive.. But not you, not anymore.” The same voice from the video was back and David didn’t want to listen, so as soon as the door to freedom opened, he got up and stumbled out of it and into the fresh air. Once outside, David collapses and begins sobbing, pleading for help, crying with relief when a woman runs over, looking quite alarmed. She places her hand on his back and pulls out her phone, calling the police. He did it; David had won. 


	2. Cigarettes & Interrogations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Violence & a violent physical altercation takes place in this chapter, with David beating up a woman in his life so if this is a sensitive subject for you I highly advise skipping the italicized paragraph!

The soft hum of the fluorescent lights that illuminated the room was the only sound aside from the burning of the current cigarette dangling between parted lips, a small pile of the things rested in an ashtray right next to David’s arm. David was a wreck; his sleeves were stained with blood, his face was pale, sweat plastered his dark hair to his skull, his eyes looked haunted, and he was still trembling. He was sitting in an interview room at the police station, eyes bloodshot from all the crying he’d done, holding his cigarette betwixt trembling digits as he exhales a puff of smoke, sniffling slightly as he stared at the metal table he sat at. Handcuffs had been placed around his wrists, slightly restricting the movement of his hands, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. His knee begins bouncing up and down at a rapid pace as his mind forces him to rewatch the events that had just taken place; mainly the act of cutting into the other man. David knew he was still alive; he heard the man’s groans, heard the muffled screams yet he still made the decision to cut into him, then dig around his organs. As he remembers the squelching and sickening sounds that came from that action, he feels a wave of nausea wash over him and squeezes his eyes shut, worried that he might actually vomit all over the place.

Before anything could come up however, the door clicks and swings open to reveal a blonde haired detective stepping inside, shutting the door behind him as he walks over to the table and sits down across from David. David had jumped at the noise of the door opening and dark, wide eyes looked up at the cool, guarded expression of the man sitting across from him, his cigarette clasped tightly between his fingers. “Hello David. I’m not here to beat around the bush or play a game of ring around the rosey so why don’t you tell me what exactly happened today?” The detective says, jumping right into his interview (though it felt more like an interrogation to David), eyes serious and calculating, which makes David withdraw slightly. The traumatized male brings the cigarette back up to his lips and takes another hit, slowly exhaling through his nose as he looks down at the table, noting that the detective had brought in a file with him, which now rested on the table. David doesn’t answer for several moments, feeling highly anxious thanks to the other man’s intense expression and he had to work himself up to describing everything that had occurred in that warehouse. After taking a few more hits and a few extra swallows, David begins recounting the events of the past several hours.

About halfway through his tale, right after he’d begun to describe how he’d cut the man open and was digging through his organs, the detective raises a hand to stop him and flips open that file, which reveals the mugshot of a sixteen year old David; it was _his_ file. “I’m going to stop you there for now, David. I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask you. Is that alright?” He asks, locking eyes with the brunet, who got the feeling that he didn’t really have a choice on the matter. He gives a nod, followed by another hit from his cigarette, his hands still shaking a bit as he shifts slightly in his chair. “As you can clearly tell by now, I have your file sitting in front of me. Something struck me as odd when you began talking about this other guy that was in the room. You said that at first you thought he was dead, as that’s what the tape told you, but then you say you heard him make noise, signalling that he wasn’t dead. Yet you still cut into him and dug around his internal cavity and organs.. I know you have a small history with violence; your dad was arrested for murdering his ex, mother killed herself, grew up pretty rough, and when you were sixteen you beat your grandmother so severely it got you some time.” The detective explains, eyes flicking down to the file as he lifts a few papers out of it, reading them as he speaks, but David’s mind was elsewhere:

_He was sixteen, standing in the doorway of his grandmother’s room; she was currently scolding him once again for his behavior, trashing his mother and blaming her suicide on him. “I’ll never know why Eric married her; she was always unstable to begin with, always so depressed and dragging my boy down with her. It was pathetic. She shouldn’t have even had a child if she knew she wouldn’t be able to care for it, yet here you are, popped out of her cunt and still breathing. You’re the reason she killed herself, you know. Five years old and already pushing her over the edge; Eric would have killed her, he hated her once you were born. He never wanted to have a child, yet she couldn’t keep her damn legs closed.” The woman mutters, shaking her head as she embroidered the pillow on her lap, unaware that David had clenched fists and was trembling with rage; his eyes as dark as space. He didn’t realise his feet were carrying him into the room until he was right on top of her and pulling his arm back, letting it go and landing a punch directly to her cheek, resulting in her head snapping to the side and blood spurting from her mouth. She nearly falls out of her chair but the arm rest prevents her from doing so as she looks over with shock all over her features, her hand cupping her cheek. David doesn’t stop there though; he wraps his hands around her neck and squeezes before ripping her from the chair, the pillow and thread falling to the ground as he throws her into the wardrobe, hearing the object groan as she falls to the floor in a heap. He stalks over to her, gripping her by the hair and landing punch after punch to this woman’s face, hot angry tears streaming down his face as blood coats her features. “Please- stop.” comes a raspy plea, and David does stop, moving off of her with bloodied knuckles and harsh breathing, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t you ever say that shit again.” He says, voice like venom as he leaves her room and walks out of the house, where he was arrested shortly thereafter._

David blinks, chasing away the memory and refocusing on the detective, who was still going about his arrest. “I don’t understand what this has to do with what happened to me.” David says, a frown on his lips as he sets his now finished cigarette down into the ashtray, lighting a second one and taking a hit. “David, you cut into another human being; a living, breathing man. Based on your family and your own record, this isn’t very surprising.” The detective says, and it suddenly clicks in David’s head: “You think I did this on my own free will? That I _wanted_ to do this? I had a fucking DEATH TRAP strapped to my goddamn head! I had no CHOICE. It was him or me, and I wasn’t going to die.” David says, his anxiety bubbling over as tears start streaming down his face and his breathing grows more frantic. “I swear to fucking god I was forced to do this. I didn’t want to cut into that guy, I didn’t want to dig around his intestines. That fucking puppet told me that if I wanted to survive I had to do it to find that damn key.” David says, his voice shaking as the cigarette nearly falls from his hand, but the detective maintains his calm demeanor.

“This is all just here-say, son. Unless you have proof to back any of this up, I’m going to have to arrest you for murder.” The detective says, sitting back in his chair and David’s eyes grow wide. “G-go to the warehouse. It’s where you picked me up. That fucking puppet and the trap and the guy should still be in there. P-please. Go look. You’ll find proof there, I promise.” David says, suddenly getting a slightly crazed look in his eyes as he latches onto that little piece of hope. The detective stares at him for several moments, staying silent as he debates on whether or not he should check up on this “lead”. At the end of the day, it wouldn’t hurt to try, and if this guy was lying then they could arrest him and ship him off to a psych ward anyway. “Alright. I’ll have a team go investigate the warehouse. If there isn’t anything there, I’m arresting you; if this stuff is there, then we’ll go from there.” The blonde man says, and David sags with relief, nodding his head vigorously and watching the detective stand up and leave, leaving David alone once again.


	3. The Truth

**Detective Andrew Torrance's POV**

Detective Andrew Torrance had been assigned one of the most bizarre cases in his entire career: A guy had been brought in, covered in blood, claiming that he’d been a subject in some fucked up type of game where he had to kill another person in order to survive. When Torrance had initially gotten the case file, he’d had to read three times just make sure he didn’t misread anything. Seeing as the Chief had selected him to be the lead detective for this, Torrance had (to the surprise of no one) chosen his partner Grace (who was also his wife) to be his second hand on this, and even she couldn’t believe what she was reading. Andrew had already done his first round of questioning with the supposed “victim” but he wasn’t buying the guy’s story at all. Who the hell comes up with something like that? He’d only just been promoted to the rank of detective and _this_ is what he gets as a reward… 

Now he was standing beside his desk, the man’s file clutched in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Andrew takes a drink of the warm liquid, his eyes scanning over the people that were in his line of sight, his mind forming a team. The man that had been brought in, David, had practically begged the detective to head out to the warehouse he escaped from to look around and find some weird puppet and a terrifying type of machine. Andrew knew he’d be taking Grace, and he figured he might as well take Stevens and Deaver, seeing as they’d both been itching to get back out on the field. “Grace, Deavers, and Stevens, you three are coming with me to investigate this warehouse.” he calls out after moving to grab his coat, setting the cup of coffee down onto his desk and leaving his office. Grace was waiting for him by the door and loops her arm through her husband’s, offering a smile. “You look annoyed. Is this case really that bad?” she asks, tilting her head so that her red curls spill over her shoulder. “I think it’s stupid that this guy is brought here, he has blood on him, and claims that he killed someone because the TV told him to, not to mention he said he had this fucked up machine on his head. There’s zero proof that any of this actually happened.” the detective explains, holding open the door for her as they head out to his car.

Once inside, Andrew starts the car and begins pulling out of the parking lot, spying the other two following them in their own car. “Why do you think he’s lying?” Grace asks her husband as she settles into the seat, tying her curls up into a ponytail. “David has a record. When he was sixteen he was arrested for domestic violence by beating the piss out of his grandmother. He comes from a family of violence too; his dad murdered his fiance and his mom committed suicide, so it lines up with the theory that he gave into those fucked up urges and became violent again.” Andrew describes, seeing Grace nod her head in his peripheral vision, bringing the car to a stop at a red light. “Did his behavior while you were talking to him signal any guilt?” “Yes. Actually, I’m not sure. He’s freaked the fuck out, definitely, and he knows what he did, but he isn’t behaving like a normally guilty person would. He definitely wouldn’t be crying over killing someone, and that’s based on previous interviews he had when he beat his grandmother up. That family has that dead, lack of remorse thing going when people are attacked or killed; his father did the same damn thing.” “Then maybe what he’s saying is the truth.” Grace says softly, resulting in Andrew looking over at her with an eyebrow raised. “You think this guy could actually be telling the truth?” Grace locks eyes with her husband, getting a determined look on her face as she launches into an explanation on why she did in fact believe David’s story. “You said that he had a hard life growing up; dad is in jail, mom killed herself, and he was forced to live with a grandmother he barely knew. If all of that happened to me in my teen years, I’d probably do some of the things he did. But from what I’ve heard coming out of the room he’s in right now, I think he’s still that terrified, confused kid that has just been through something traumatic.” She says, sounding confident in her theory, and chuckling at the look on her husband’s face. “If I’m right, you have to cook those BBQ pork sandwiches for dinner, wearing that sexy maid’s outfit. If I’m wrong, I’ll cook you that garlic pasta dish you like. And sleep on the couch.” Andrew says and Grace beams, giving his hand a firm shake to solidify their deal.

It took them about fifteen minutes to reach the warehouse, and the first thing both detectives noticed was the large bloodstain on the pavement outside the building, where the woman had found a sobbing David. Andrew parks the car, as does Stevens, and the group gets out and begins walking towards the building. “Supposedly we should find a creepy puppet, a weird dangerous looking machine, a chair with straps on the arms, an old TV, and a VHS tape.” the lead detective describes, hearing Deaver give a snort as they reach the door. Grace opens it and holds it open for the group, watching each man go inside before following, slightly jumping when the door slammed shut behind them. Deaver finds a lightswitch and flicks it on, lighting the room in a bright white glow, which reveals the chair and the TV, but the trap and Billy were both gone. Andrew shoots a smug look towards his wife as they venture further into the room, with Deaver and Stevens investigating the chair and Grace moving towards the TV. She presses the button to turn it on then pushes the VHS slot on the VCR open to peer inside, spying that there was a tape already in it. She steps back and gives it a minute to set it up before the tape that David watched begins playing, getting the trio’s attention and they walk over to her. The red haired detective looks away from the screen, spying something sitting beside the television, prompting her to move forward and pick it up. It was a second VHS tape that was labeled **_Hello Detectives. Play this to reveal the truth._** Grace looks to her husband, holding the tape out to him, “Andrew.” He takes the tape and moves to the VCR, ejecting the current tape and inserting the new one, stepping back and waiting for it to play.

The screen flickers for a few moments before CCTV footage is displayed before their eyes; no audio accompanies the video, and the group watches as a robed figure enters the frame, dragging the unconscious body of David along with it. Andrew curses under his breath but Grace doesn’t smile; she watches as the figure drags David over to the chair, pushing his body into it and restraining him, then moving off screen. When the figure reappears, they are holding this horrific looking machine in their hands, which they attach to David before the video stops. No one says anything for several moments, all of them trying to process what they had just watched. “He’s telling the truth.” Grace murmurs, breaking the silence and looking over at her husband, who looked slightly angry but still quite shocked. “It seems he is.. Grab both tapes and call the lab for the chair. I want everything tested for fingerprints.” He orders and the other two men nod before getting to work, leaving Andrew to walk with Grace to the car, sliding inside before starting the engine and heading back to the station.

**David's POV**

David didn’t dare move from his chair, or the room he was sitting in, anxiety keeping him rooted to the spot since he didn’t know when that detective would be back. The pile of cigarettes had grown so large, that David only had three left to actually smoke, one of which was already lit and resting between his lips. His knee continued to bounce at a rapid rate, and he currently had his head resting against the cool, metal table, his eyes closed. Suddenly the door opened to reveal the detective, who appeared a bit annoyed as he pulled a TV into the room before turning to face David. “The puppet and trap weren’t there; the chair, the tape, and something else were there instead. I’m going to show you what was left for my team, and based upon the fact that this person you call Jigsaw left it intentionally, I believe that you are telling the truth.” The detective admits, and David nearly breaks down in that moment, feeling absolute relief that someone actually believed him; he wasn’t crazy.

The traumatized man stays quiet as he watches the detective turn on the TV, watching the screen flicker before the CCTV footage fills the frame, making David’s anxiety return in full force. He watched as his body was dragged over to the chair and strapped inside, watching as that god awful trap was attached to his head. He leans forward, pressing into the desk, trying to see any identifiable features of the robed figure, but unfortunately the footage was too grainy for him to see anything. “I’m guessing that you don’t recognize this person?” “No.” David responds, taking a hit from his cigarette, his hand slightly shaking. “I don’t remember any of that either. I just remember waking up in the chair with that _thing_ on my head.” He adds, swallowing thickly as he leans back in his chair. The detective shuts off the TV when the footage ends, sitting down across from David and running a hand through his hair, his eyes landing on the cuffs. “Do you want me to take those off?” The man asks and David nods, holding his wrists out for him, rubbing his wrists once the cuffs were removed. “I’m going to get a coffee. Do you want anything?” “Water, please.” David’s voice was soft as he responded and the detective gave a nod before leaving the room once again, pulling the TV out with him. David sat there, running his hands down his face and letting his eyes close; where the fuck do they go from here?


	4. Are You Grateful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I wrote this chapter on the drive home from my vacation! Thank you for all the support, as usual, I really enjoy writing this fic and I truly hope I'm doing David justice! Please, enjoy! And feel free to comment!!

The detective wasn't gone for nearly as long this time around, as the door opens and reveals the blond haired man with two cups in his hand. David watches as he steps into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him as he moves over to the table, sitting down across from David once more. He slides one of the cups towards the brunet, who picks it up with a soft murmur of thanks before raising the styrofoam cup to his lips and taking a drink of the iced water inside. He could feel it go all the way down his throat, plunging his inner body temperature into a cooler range, which felt refreshing considering how sweaty and heated he'd been from the adrenaline. The pair sit in silence for a few moments, and it's during this time that David notices the detective had brought in a notepad and pen; seems he would be taking either notes or a statement. "I never got your name." David says softly, his eyes lifting to look at the detective, who was in the middle of taking a drink of his coffee, the aroma of it, mixed with the odor of cigarettes, filling the small room. After setting his cup down again and shrugging off his jacket, he introduces himself, "My professional name is Detective Torrance, but you can call me Andrew." David gives a nod, feeling more comfortable now that he knew this man's name.

"David, I want to go over your story again, but this time I want to take notes on it. First, however, I want to ask you a few questions; is that okay?" Andrew asks, his tone much softer than it previously was, showing his thoughts on David had truly changed. David nods, running a hand through his hair as he settles into his seat, setting down the now finished cigarette he'd been holding, only to replace with a fresh one, lighting it and taking a drag. He only had one cigarette left after this. Andrew paws through the pockets of his jacket, searching for something; he pulls out a tape recorder and sets it onto the table, eyes flicking upwards to look at David. "Ready?" the detective asks and David nods, that knee bouncing up and down once again, a sign that he was pretty damn nervous. Andrew presses "record" and begins speaking: "This is Detective Andrew Torrance, lead investigator on the Warehouse Case. I am sitting with David, the victim and subject of the case." he glances to David, writing something on the notepad: Say your name, age, and occupation. David quickly reads what is written and nods, parting his lips and speaking softly into the device, "My name is David Moss, I'm 25 years old, and I work as a janitor for the Angel of Mercy Hospital." Andrew gives a thumbs up before continuing, "I will be interviewing David on his experience in the warehouse."

Andrew flips to a clean page of the notepad, pen in hand before he sits up a little straighter and begins his questioning. "I want to start with the warehouse. The last time we discussed it, you said that there was a green light filling the room, but when my team went there the lights were white." "He must have gone back then; it'd explain why the puppet and trap were gone." David says with a frown as a thought pops into his mind, making him feel a little sick to his stomach. "Or he could have been there already, watching me." Andrew stops writing, looking up at David with a slightly disgusted expression on his face. "We didn't see any signs of him being there, but then again we weren't really looking for it." The detective admits, toying with his pen as he thinks about it before continuing to write. "Had you ever been to the warehouse before this event?" The detective asks and David stays quiet for several moments, trying to rake through his memory bank for anytime he might have needed to go to that place. "No, I'd never been there before. My job doesn't really require me to go to places other than the hospital. And I'd have no reason to go to that place outside of work either." David says, dark eyes flicking back to look at the detective, who was writing down his answer. "The tape that we found, the one you had watched, called this entire situation a game. Why do you think you were chosen to play?" David doesn't answer right away with this question, instead he feels a sort of dread fill his body, making his gaze drop to study the table. "David?" Andrew asks after a small period of pure silence, and his voice brings David back to reality, out of the dark, swirling cloud that was his thoughts.

"I was chosen because I have lived a shitty life; I didn't care if I died or lived, I used to say living is overrated. My mother was a shell of a woman that wasn't there mentally, leaving me to grow up at an extremely young age only for her to kill herself when I was five fucking years old. Dad's in prison on Death Row, waiting for the day he dies because he murdered his fiancee. I got shipped off to live with my father's mother, a woman I still don't fully know, who runs her home like a fucking dictator and who always shit on my mother both while she was alive and dead. When I turned sixteen, I'd had enough and beat the piss out of her but got arrested, spent a few months in prison, then a few months later I pack up my shit and just leave. Nine years later I'm still living in the same apartment I bought back then working as the fucking poop scooper at a hospital. What else does someone need to be in order to be chosen?" David says, his tone bitter, his eyes cold as he speaks, asking the question with exasperation lacing his voice. The man lifts his head, eyes locking with the detective's, who had stopped writing just to listen to David speak, listening to the man's upbringing in greater depth compared to just reading a file. Neither man says anything after David finishes, with both of them just sitting in silence and processing what had been revealed. Andrew mentally kicks himself and looks down at the notepad to resume writing, the only sounds filling the rooms are Andrew's pen as it scratches against the paper and the subtle burning of David's cigarette. Once everything has been written, Andrew looks up and notes how tense David still is; childhood was a sore subject. "Why don't we take a small break? You can get up and walk around the station a little, maybe go wash that blood off your face and we can resume when you come back." Andrew suggests and David hesitates before nodding, standing up and setting his cigarette against the ashtray before moving to the door. He places his hand on the knob, feeling how cold the metal was, then he twists it and pulls, revealing the rest of the station.

David steps out of the room, looking around at the other officers as he starts looking for the bathrooms, noting every one of the horrified looks he receives from these people. He didn't blame them though, his shirt was wrinkled and had sweat stains on it, his sleeves had blood stains on them, his mouth had dried blood surrounding it, his hair was likely plastered to his head from the trap, not to mention he was still a nervous wreck. David keeps his head down as he ventures further into the main area, spying the bathroom signs on the other side of the room; meaning he'd have to walk between the desks of these people. David actually debated just going back into the room and cleaning up whenever he got home, but he knew it might help him feel better getting rid of all this shit. Heaving a sigh, David begins moving between the desks, keeping his eyes locked on that bathroom sign, mentally counting each step he took. He felt like everyone had their eyes on him, like they were all staring at him, thinking of him as a monster; he isn't a monster, he's just a guy that went through some fucked up shit. As he was walking, he thought he saw movement next to the bathrooms; by this point he was about halfway through the sea of desks, and when he squinted his eyes a little bit more... In that single moment, David would forever swear to everything under the sun that he saw that goddamn puppet sitting against the wall beside the bathroom. The world stopped moving and dissolved around him as pure fear and panic swarmed his mind, making him begin to hyperventilate and slowly sink to his knees, his eyes still locked on what he thought was that puppet. He couldn't breathe; it felt like his chest was tightening and his throat was closing, like his heart was going to burst from how rapidly it was beating. A woman with red hair slowly approaches him, squatting down beside and placing a hesitant hand on his back, making him flinch. "Hey.. It's alright, you're alright David. Breathe with me, okay?" the woman's voice was soft, soothing to David's ears, and he listens to her words, taking deep calming breaths with her, feeling his anxiety become controlled. "Can you tell me what happened?" the woman asks once she knows David is calmer, looking at him with furrowed brows. "I thought I saw the puppet, by the bathroom." He says, lifting a hand to point at the object, but to his surprise it was just a trashcan. His hand falls limply onto his lap as he stares at the trashcan, a forlorn expression on his face, but the woman doesn't laugh or give him a weird look; instead, she helps him to his feet and walks him all the way to the bathroom. "Go get cleaned up. I'll walk you back to Andy when you're done." she instructs, giving a kind smile.

David gives a nod and enters the bathroom where he moves straight to the sink and turns on the water, splashing some onto his face and examining his reflection in the mirror; god he looked awful. He cups his hands to collect some of the water before splashing it onto his face again, but this time he gets some of the hand soap and starts scrubbing his face, using his nails to extra oomf. Despite his face hurting, and the fact that he'd have scratch marks on his skin, David was relieved to see that blood wash down the drain, tinting the suds a pink color. Once his face was clean, he starts scrubbing his hands, trying to get beneath his nails to get the hidden pieces out. His skin would be stained pink and shaded red from how violently he was scrubbing, wanting the memories to wash down the drain too. As he was scrubbing, he felt tears burn his eyes, and he soon lets them fall, watching as they hit the water with soft, gentle splashes, doing his best to prevent any sobs from passing his lips. David's life would never be the same; he was always going to be tense, fearing that Jigsaw might return to finish what he started, or that the puppet would be waiting for him around every corner; he'd have to start attending therapy, likely get put on medication, take time off work - no, he had to work, taking time off wasn't an option. After David nearly scrubs his skin raw, he rinses all of the soap off before shutting the water off and grabbing a few paper towels to dry his face and hands and once he is dry, he exits the bathroom. The red haired woman was still waiting outside for him, texting someone on her phone; when the door closes, she looks up and smiles at David, looking him over. "Much better. Come on, let's go back to Andy." she says, beginning to walk beside him as they head for the interview room. "What's your name?" David asks softly, to which she replies, "Grace. I'm Andrew's wife." she says with another smile, prompting David to nod. The pair reach the room and she opens the door for him, letting him walk in while winking at her husband before gently closing the door and leaving them alone.

David sits back down in his seat, looking much cleaner now and David notices both the cups are gone, which makes him wonder if Andrew was among the crowd that saw his breakdown. "You look better now that all that blood's gone." Andrew says, making David chuckle darkly as he leans back in his chair. "Can we just continue with the questions?" The brunet asks, not really noticing how tired he was until that moment; he didn't know how long he'd been at the station, let alone how long he'd been awake. Andrew wanted to continue asking a number of questions, but he was honestly on the same thought process as David; he was exhausted and wanted to go home and sleep. "I'll ask one more question and you can come in another time to tell your story again. Sound fair?" Andrew asks, running a hand down his face and David nods, relieved to hear that this was almost over. The detective presses the tape recorder and picks up his pen, ready to write once again, and after he gets a confirmation nod from David, he asks the final question: "During our first conversation, you said the puppet mentioned something about being grateful. Are you grateful, David?" David looks at Andrew as his mind replays that moment, hearing that chilling, high pitched voice in his ears reciting the congratulatory speech. "The puppet said 'Most people are so ungrateful to be alive. But not you, not anymore.' He's completely correct; a lot of people don't really think about how their lives could end in a matter of seconds. I personally am grateful to still be alive, that I had the will and fight to survive." David responds, with Andrew quickly writing down everything that had just been said, giving a nod as he shuts off the tape recorder. The door opens and both men look over at it, seeing Grace walk in wearing her coat, a kind smile on her lips as she moves over to her husband, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Are you two done now?" She asks with a chuckle and Andrew nods, placing his hand on hers. "Yeah, we're done." He says, sounding a bit tired as he stands up, stretching a bit, followed by David standing up. "Can an officer drive me home? And stay outside my place?" He asks, nervously and Grace looks to her husband, who nods. "Yeah, that's actually a good idea. I'll have Deaver drive you home." The detective says and the trio all leave the room, where Andrew explains the situation to Deaver, who nods and gives a little wave to David. "I'll get you home safe and sound." He says before David and the officer head out.

The drive to David's apartment complex was a silent one, with David looking out the window of the car he rode in, watching the town fly by them full of normal people living normal lives. Deaver doesn't ask any questions, which helps David relax, seeing as he wasn't really in the mood to talk anymore for the day. As soon as David had gotten into the car, he'd noticed that the time read 10:30 in the morning, meaning David had been held at the station overnight without realising it. After a twenty minute drive, they arrive at the complex and Deaver parks before both men get out of the car. David fishes his keys out of his pocket, having been given his things at the station, leading the way inside. He ignores the front desk woman, just wanting to go to bed, clamoring up the stairs and right to his door. He slips the key inside, unlocking the door and twisting the knob before pushing it open, revealing his (shitty) home. David turns to Deaver, softly thanking him for the ride before heading inside, shutting and locking the door behind him, leaving the officer to sit outside in the hall, protecting him.


	5. Forlorn Walls

The apartment door had just closed, leaving David to stand in the little entry hall of his apartment; the silence seemed to swirl around his ears as he stood there, staring blankly at the end of the hall. He felt, well he didn’t really know how he was feeling at that moment; he set his key down on the table by the door, turning around to make sure all the locks were used, adding an ounce of safety for David before he turned back. The walls of his apartment had old, chipping wallpaper, revealing the concrete walls underneath and teasing at just how old the building was; it wasn’t just the walls that teased this, however, as the wooden floor beneath David’s feet had holes in it and creaked with each footstep. It truly was falling apart; but David had had this place since the early 90s, and now new construction methods had been developed, but the landlord refused to redo the entire complex. David wished he could leave, get a better place, but he didn’t make much on a janitor’s salary, and he oftentimes viewed working there as not really worth it.

Giving himself a little shake to bring himself back into reality, David continued deeper into the apartment, the floor groaning beneath him with each step he took, sending a chill up his spine. He could feel anxiety starting to prickle his scalp as he moved towards the end of the hall, fearing that someone else was in the apartment with him. He stops in the living room, his eyes slowly moving every piece of furniture, every nook and cranny of the room, searching for any glint of metal of movement. David’s living room wasn’t very flashy; he had a worn out, outdated couch, a leather chair with tears in it, a coffee table, a few tall lamps in the corners, a small TV resting on a shelf that had been nailed into the wall, and everything was sitting atop an old carpet that he’d bought at a thrift store when he first moved in. The brunet wraps his arms around himself as he moves to the windows on the back wall, making sure they were locked nice and tight and that the curtains were drawn. Despite being a few stories off the ground, David’s paranoia was only just starting to take over, resulting in him being terrified that the puppet or Jigsaw could get inside and kidnap him again. 

Once he was sure everything in the living room was securely locked and that no one was in there, David turned and moved into the kitchen. The kitchen was the second room in the apartment that David had begun to try and restore/revamp: there were brand new appliances, such as a fridge and oven, and he’d replaced the counters, and had even added tile to replace the wood floor. David had spent his entire paycheck on the kitchen, so he’d begun to budget and set aside money for things like food and other necessities, then had an account for revamping projects. He moves over to the fridge and opens it up, inspecting the contents inside and settling on pulling out a Gatoraide followed by leftover burger meat for dinner, though he wasn’t very hungry. All that he really wanted to do was go to bed and try to sleep, but he hadn’t eaten in at least a day so he was forcing himself to do it, opening one of the cabinets and pulling out a plate, putting the meat onto it before going back into the fridge to get cheese. He peels open a package and takes out a single slice, closing the fridge and placing the cheese onto the meat before sticking the plate into the microwave and turning it on, tossing the wrapper into the trash as the food warms up. David leans back against the counter that was across from the microwave, closing his eyes as he listens to the hum of the device, nearly dozing off before the beeping of it wakes him up. He steps forward and shuts off the cook time, opening the door and pulling out the plate, which he sets on the counter and grabs some buns from another cabinet, opening the bag and pulling one out. He closes the bag but leaves it on the counter, building himself a burger before he picks up the plate and drink, beginning the journey to his bedroom.

In order to get to his bedroom, David would have to go head down the hall to the left of the kitchen, which is what he did. As David walked down the hall, one would notice pretty damn quickly that there weren’t any pictures on the walls, and, after noticing that, one would notice that the entire apartment was void of any pictures of David or anyone from his family. Most people would likely assume he didn’t even have a girlfriend, which he didn’t at the moment, but when he was younger he’d had one, it was how he’d gotten his job at the hospital.

_The year was 1998 and a 20 year old David was currently standing barricade at a Screaming Trees concert, sweat already coating his face as four cups worth of alcohol swirled through his system. A slightly stupid grin was stretched across his lips as he the rumble of the people around him fill his ears, making him turn to see just how many people occupied the venue. He turns back around when people start screaming, signalling that someone was on the stage, but it was just a tech person, making sure everything was set up properly. David looks to his right and sees a pretty brunette woman standing beside him, her dark locks pulled up into a ponytail, a black Screaming Trees shirt adorning her frame with the back tied up so it teased the exposure of her midriff. She had dark eyes and slightly tanned skin, and soft looking lips. David moves a bit closer to her, so they could hear each other over the crowd, deciding to introduce himself. “Hey!” He says, drawing her attention rather quickly, as if she’d been studying him discreetly. “Hey! I like your shirt!” She responds, pointing to his Alice in Chains shirt and grinning up at him. “Thanks! I didn’t have a Screaming Trees shirt, so this was the best I could do.” He says with a laugh, resulting in her extending her hand to him. “I’m Lucy.” She says as he gives her hand a shake, replying with “David.” “Well David, I’m guessing this isn’t your first concert.” Lucy says and David shakes his head. “Nope. Probably my tenth? I think? I help out with the merch table, so I get free access.” He explains, needing to bend down closer to her so she could hear, since the crowd had begun singing in a drunken stupor. “This is my second. I’m a nurse so I don’t get much time away.” Lucy says in his ear, but before he could respond, the opening act came out, drawing their attention to the stage and beginning the concert._

_Over the course of the performance, Lucy and David had moved closer and closer to each other, and by the time it was over, Lucy had grabbed David’s hand and was currently dragging him out of the venue. Both had consumed more alcohol, so they ended up stumbling more than walking, soon reaching her car. Before she unlocks it, however, she turns to face him and grabs his shirt, pulling him down to her level before she kisses him, taking him completely by surprise. He kisses her back, his hands moving up to cup her face, stepping forward so she was pinned against the car; the little makeout session lasted a few moments before Lucy pulls back with a giggle, fishing her keys out and unlocking the car, gently pushing him off so they could both get in. Once inside, David teases her by leaving kisses to her neck as she drives, which she clearly should have been doing since both of them were intoxicated. However, by some miracle, they made it safely to Lucy’s place, both of them clamoring out of the car._

_The pair stumbled inside her house, and as soon as she’d closed the door, their mouths were back on each other, clothes being ripped off as they moved into her bedroom. After a night of drunken “activities”, David woke up to feel a body pressed against his own, accompanied by an arm around his waist. His skull pounded as dark eyes slowly opened, his vision extremely blurry and a groan slipping from his lips as he rolled over, pulling whoever it was closer against him, taking comfort in their warmth. A responding groan comes from the person, and once David’s vision cleared, he saw that it was Lucy; she’d wrapped herself around his frame while they slept, both of them completely naked, the faint scent of alcohol and sex floating around the room. “Mm… Hey.” David murmurs, shaking Lucy, who slowly wakes up, face contorting with pain as her own skull pounded, dark eyes opening as she looks at David. “Hi.” Comes her response, and she showed no signs of being angry or upset that he was in her bed, or that they were naked. “I’m glad you stayed.” She admits after a moment’s pause, wrapping her arms tighter around him. “Well that answers my question then.” He says with a chuckle, letting his eyes close as he lets himself relax; he wasn’t being kicked out._

_Over the course of just over a year, David and Lucy fell into a wonderful relationship with each other, with Lucy going as far as getting David a job at the hospital she worked at as a janitor. He was living with her, living his best life, and the pair had had quite a lot of pictures taken, with their main photographer being some lanky looking dude that smelled like cigarettes.Their relationship lasted until just after their one year anniversary, with Lucy cheating on David with a doctor she worked under one night after getting drinks. Lucy had begged David not to leave, and had repeatedly told him how sorry she was, but David was too heartbroken to listen and ended the relationship, moving out of her place and back into his own. After their split, the photos David had been forced to take were burned by him, erasing all evidence that they’d been together, though he kept his job since he never really saw her anyway._

David continues walking down the hall, passing by a locked door and the guest bathroom; the guest bathroom was pretty standard, nothing too exciting there, but the locked room, that was a different story. When David had first moved in, the landlord had warned him to never go into that room, even going as far as keeping the only key that unlocked the door. Rumors from someone being murdered in the room to it being a mini meth lab had swirled around the complex, and David still didn’t know what was wrong with the room, but then again he never really asked, fearing he’d be kicked out if he did. Along with the bare walls, the floor was devoid of any coverings, so the wood was on display, creaking and causing splinters if one didn’t wear shoes. This hall wasn’t as long as the entry one, so it didn’t take David too long to finally reach his bedroom.

He sets the plate down on the bedside table, where his phone was also sitting along with a lamp, which had been left on from the last time he was home. He fishes his Walkman out of his jacket pocket and sets that on the wooden dresser, which had recently been replaced. The bedroom was the first room David had revamped, getting a new mattress, sheets, bedframe, he’d replaced the wood flooring with soft carpet, and had replaced all the furniture. He shuffles into the bathroom and turns the water on, stripping out of his clothes and leaving them on the floor in the corner before moving back out, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and eating his burger. He could barely keep his eyes open he was so tired; he felt drained, both physically and mentally, wanting to just curl up under the blanket and sleep, but he knew that cleaning off all the dirt and blood from that horrible trap would help him. Once he saw steam flowing into his room, he got up and made his way back into the bathroom, making sure the window was locked and the curtain was drawn along the way. He steps into the shower, feeling his muscles relax for a few moments before he reaches for the soap and begins scrubbing his entire body. This time he avoids looking at the drain and focuses on getting every inch of his skin clean and devoid of any blood, taking a good fifteen minutes to do that. After he’d rinsed off and done his hair, David faces the water and sticks his face under it, letting the hot substance flow down his face as he runs his hands through his hair. After a nearly hour long shower, he turns off the water and steps out, drying himself off.

When he is dry completely, he hangs the towel on a bar beside the shower and steps into his room, walking over to the dresser and pulling open a few drawers. He pulls out a pair of clean boxers and slides them on before reaching for some sweatpants and pulling those on. He then moves over to his bed and pulls the blanket and top sheet back, sliding underneath as he lets it drape over his frame. He reaches his hand out and turns off the lamp, plunging himself into darkness; David burrows under the blanket, making himself comfortable and warm before he lets his eyes close. Finally, he could sleep and put the past 48 hours behind him, hopefully turning it into nothing but a distant memory - in actuality, it was going to be the center of his life for a very long time, David just didn’t realize it yet.


	6. You Will Heal, I Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Drowning is described in the italicized paragraphs so please read with caution.

_ Muffled noises toy with David’s ears as dark eyes slowly open, vision fuzzy but he could feel something cold and metal wrapped around his neck, instantly triggering his fight or flight response to kick into gear. As his eyes cleared, he tries to move his head but is unable to, feeling his heart begin to race in his chest as David tries to move the rest of his body but finds that he’s completely restricted from movement all the way down his frame His breath began to come out in heaves as panic trickles through his system, gathering that he was dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans, completely barefoot and could feel the cool bottom of this device beneath his feet. As David’s eyes flick around, he realises that he’s in some sort of glass tube, only knowing this due to his breath fogging up the piece of glass mere inches from his face, with his neck bound in a collar attached to the back of the interior of the tube, holding him in place. He spies a TV across the room and just like last time it flickers to life, revealing that dreaded puppet that haunted David, making him whimper. “Hello David. I want to play a game. It seems that the lesson I presented was not learned last time we saw each other; this time I will ensure it is not forgotten. The device you are currently strapped in will begin filling with blood after this tape ends and the timer begins; your goal is to get out of the tube before it fills completely in ten minutes. In order to free yourself of the restraints around your body, you need to catch a small remote that will be dropped into the tube only two times. Once the button on the remote is pressed, the restraints will release you, allowing you movement and a chance to escape. Will you make it out here alive or will you join the others whose blood will choke the life from you? Live or die, make your choice.” _

_ The video ends and David begins sobbing, body trembling as a sickening feeling fills his stomach; Jigsaw has put him into another game. He felt defeated, crushed, and terrified; this game sounded impossible to beat. He only had two chances at surviving this, two chances or his life would end. The fact that the blood would be filled with human blood sickened him, and he didn’t doubt at all that this man was dead serious about it. David hears a buzzer go off followed by a groan and hot, sticky blood crashes onto his head, streaming down his body to the bottom of the tube, pooling at his feet. David attempts to thrash against the device but still cannot move a single muscle, making another sob rip from his chest as the scared man looks around the room, searching for a sign that the remote will make its first drop. Despite his search turning up nothing, David does spy the timer that is positioned up above the TV counting down. David feels the blood soak through his shirt and jeans, plastering his hair to his forehead as his vision is reduced by the red liquid, even feeling some of it fill his mouth which results in him gagging on it as the sharp metallic taste floods his tongue. Eyes flick back to the timer: **7:54** ; how did three minutes already pass by?_

_ There’s a sharp beeping noise, which David guesses is the signal that the remote is about to drop, before a black object shoots down in front of him, a mere blurr in his vision. He reacts too late, slamming his forehead against the glass earning himself a world of pain as dark spots dance across his vision. The brunet groans, closing his eyes for a few moments as he feels the remote sink through the blood to his feet, where it will be staying the remainder of the game. “FUCK.” he yells out, hearing his voice fill the tube as the blood was now at the middle of his thighs, continuing to fill at a rapid rate. David suddenly frowns, lifting his eyes to try and peer through the blood blocking his vision to look at the timer, which was now seven minutes exactly; the timer was keeping time with the blood. David could feel a knot beginning to form on his forehead, but it was the least of his problems now as he began focusing all his energy on waiting for the beep. He was going to get out of this alive; he already won once, he can win again. _

_ What felt like an eternity passed before David heard that beep; it sounded like the purest thing he’d ever heard, and when the remote fell from the top of the tube, David was ready. He waits until he sees the bottom of it tinge the very top of his vision before he shoots his head forward and- He missed. David feels his soul leave his body as that remote plunges into the blood, which is now crawling up his stomach and sinks to the bottom, resting beside the first one. “NO. NO FUCK THIS.” David yells, crumbling to pieces as hot tears stream down his cheeks, mixing with the blood below him. This was it; he was going to die; he’d failed. Suddenly the blood began dumping into the tube, prompting David to try and turn his face down to shield it from the oncoming downpour, which revealed to him that Jigsaw was watching and knew he’d failed. The blood is at his lower chest, then his neck; it begins pouring into his mouth, making his eyes grow wide as he once again tries to thrash around, held perfectly still as the substance floods down his throat, filling his lungs as the man begins choking. Tears leak from his eyes as the blood encases his nose, cutting off all possible air from reaching the man’s system; his vision was fading quickly, his heart about to burst- _

David shoots up in bed, sweat drenching his body and clothes as loud, deep gasps leave the man’s mouth while he tries to lap up as much oxygen as he can. His chest felt tight and his heart was hammering even as the remnants of the nightmare faded into the back of his mind, tear stains on his cheeks from where he’d been crying in his sleep. His body trembled as he ran his hands down his face, then through his hair, showing himself that he could breathe and not encased in a glass tube. The only sound that filled his room was his own breathing before his phone began ringing, making him jump out of his skin as a curse goes flying from his mouth, his heart skipping a beat. He reaches over and snatches his phone up, not recognizing the number but still answering it, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?” “Hey, David, this is Grace, from the police station. Sorry to call unannounced like this, but I wanted to present something to you that I think will help you on your journey through the trauma you experienced. I’m going to give you the address of my own personal therapist that I want you to go see; he’s really good at what he does and I already have an appointment scheduled for you.” “What? No. Fuck that I’m not going anywhere.” David says in response, feeling anger and anxiety course through him as he swings his legs over the side of his bed. “David, I understand that you’re scared right now, but you can’t stay in your apartment all the time. Please just do this, for me. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to go back.” she coaxes, and David was about to just hang up but something in the back of his mind was telling him that she was right. He’d have to go back (or at least try to go back) to normal function at some point lest he turn into some hermit. After several silence filled moments, he sighs and closes his eyes, holding his head in his hand. “Alright.. I’ll go.” he mutters and he can hear the smile in her voice as she responds: “Great! The appointment is for 9:30 so you better get going! I’ll talk to you later, David, good luck!” The line goes dead and he lowers the phone, giving himself a few minutes to process the fact that he now was being told to go see a therapist.

David eventually lifts himself off his bed and peels off his sweatpants, moving into the bathroom to fetch the clothes from last night and bundling all of them together before setting them on the floor next to the dresser, adding his boxers to the pile. He pulls out a clean pair and slips them on before opening one of the drawers and seeing his jeans, making him stop for a moment as a faint memory of the nightmares trickles back into his mind, but he shakes it off and pulls out some shorts. He puts them on before moving to his closet, pulling open the door and turning on the light, illuminating the small room. His eyes slowly look over each shirt in the room before he settles on a bigger Pink Floyd sweatshirt he’d gotten at one of their concerts back in the day, pulling it on over his head before turning off the light and shutting the door. He picks up the clothes again and carries them out of his room, depositing them on the coffee table in his living room to be dealt with later before he heads into the kitchen. Fingers curl around the handle of the fridge as he pulls it open, seeing what he had for breakfast, which wasn’t much. He pulls out the egg carton and opens it to reveal two eggs, setting that on the counter before he slides over to his cabinet, pulling out some bread and taking out two slices. He butters the toast before putting it into the toaster and grabbing a pan for the eggs; once it is heated and the eggs seasoned with salt and pepper, he begins fixing himself breakfast. After everything is done, he carries it to his couch and sits down, eating it in silence since he didn’t want to watch TV knowing the news was likely covering his story. 

After breakfast, David puts his dish in the sink to wash when he gets back, heading into the entry hall to grab his keys and he heads out the door. It was a thirty minute drive to the therapist’s office, and David got there at 9:25, five minutes before his appointment time. He walks inside and steps up to the front desk, quietly informing the woman of his appointment, to which she gives a cheerful smile and nod, instructing him to wait in one of the chairs. David (thankfully) was the only one in the waiting room, which allowed his mind to wander a bit as the sound of keys being tapped on the keyboard mixed with the phones ringing floated about the room. It wasn’t very long before the door leading into the back of the building opened and a man with dark hair presented himself, offering a warm smile to David. “Hello. You must be David. I’m Dr. Shelby, please, come back.” he says, introducing himself as David slowly stands up, following the man into the receptionist area and into one of the rooms. 

The room was smaller than average, with a large plush couch against one of the walls and a smaller couch seated across from it, the floor was made of pure carpet, a few lamps were scattered around the seating area, and a bookshelf with books about therapy stood at the far left of the entryway. David walks over to the couch and sits down with Dr. Shelby doing the same on the smaller couch, sitting with one leg crossed over the other and a notepad on his lap. “Now, David, why don’t we start with you telling me a little about yourself.” The doctor suggests, eyes locked on the man seated on the bigger couch. David gives a slightly tight nod, but hesitates before he begins speaking: “I work at Angel of Mercy Hospital as a janitor, I live in an apartment I’ve had since I was sixteen, and I was just recently put through one of the most traumatizing shit storms you can imagine.” David mutters, his knee bouncing up and down as a hand moves through his hair, eyes locked on the doctor’s hand as he writes down notes. “Let’s discuss your childhood. What was it like?” David’s face darkens at the question, and he doesn’t answer for several minutes, but with a bit of coaxing, the doctor gets it out. “I had a mother who wasn’t mentally there, a shell of a woman that wanted nothing to do with me. I didn’t have a father, as he was in prison on Death Row for killing someone he should have loved. When I turned five, my mother decided to take a fistful of sleeping pills because having a kid was just too much for her to handle. Instead of being sent into the foster care system, which I think would have been a fucking blessing, I was shipped off to live with my father’s sister whom I’d never met before.” He says, stopping at the mention of his Aunt, not wanting to go any further, but the doctor was too invested now to let him stop, his pen flying across the paper at rapid speeds. “Continue.” he says, looking up at David, who shook his head, gripping the hem of his sweatshirt. 

“David, this is a safe space; you need to let me in if you want to be able to move on from everything that’s plaguing you.” The man says softly, lowering the pad of paper onto his lap as he focuses all his attention on David. “What’s shared here cannot be shared anywhere else. It stays between you and I.” That works, and David lowers his walls just a tad. “My Aunt was a dictator; she wanted everything in her house to be perfect, wanted every _one_ inside the house to be perfect. She degraded my mother, spewing horrible things about her, verbally abusing me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I snapped; I beat her up until she was nearly disfigured, then was arrested, spent some time in prison. After I got out, I left; grabbed my shit, got an apartment, and never looked back.” Shelby writes all that down before looking back up at the man. “What about your job? Do you enjoy it?” “No, I hate it. Hospitals and doctors are nothing more than a disguise for the medical companies to drain people of their money. ‘Broke an arm? That’s okay, we’ll let you stay in the hospital for an unnecessary amount of days then charge you for the stay, the cast, the surgery, and recovery. Oh, sorry, looks like insurance won’t cover this, better fucking pay out of pocket. Family member dying? Come bring them here where we can pretend to care about them and keep them on life support as long as you want; just means more money for us.’ It’s fucking disgusting.” David explains, his tone like ice and his eyes like steel; Shelby reacts calmly, taking notes as each phrase leaves David’s mouth, proving to be quite a hot topic, more so than the man’s childhood it seems.

Doctor Shelby’s demeanor shifts, something that David instantly notices and begins to grow anxious as he watches this man drop his leg, adopting a more serious position on the couch. “David.. I know about the test that you experienced, the trauma you had to endure the other day, and I want to focus the rest of the session on this, but you’re going to need to be honest with me.” The doctor says, voice gentle, as if talking to a wild animal, which in a sense, David was. His eyes had narrowed and become guarded at the doctor’s words, his muscles stiffening as he instinctively moved back on the couch, pressing himself into the cushions as if he could escape the room through the couch. “I won’t ask you to retell the story, I’m going to be asking you different questions, alright? Remember that you’re safe and no one can hurt you in here.” The doctor continues, only making David more anxious and slightly panic, his chest starting to heave, which Shelby notices. “David, take a few deep breaths for me. In. Out. In. Out. Good. Now, after experiencing the test, how do you feel now?” Once the question is asked, David nearly crumbles; he hadn’t been asked that by anyone since getting out of that warehouse, and the simple question felt like a million things toppling onto him. As he responds, his voice cracks slightly and tears fill his eyes, “I feel scared; so fucking scared that that monster is going to come back for me and make me do another fucking game. I’m scared that he’ll kidnap me from work again, that someone there is him. I’m scared that he’s everywhere, watching everything I do. I don’t want to leave my fucking apartment because I feel like I won’t be in control and won’t be safe.” He says, not caring that he was crying in front of this man, who just silently hands him tissues as he listens, taking notes here and there. “Have you been seeing anything? Things that seem strange?” “The fucking puppet. The stupid, piece of shit puppet that was on the video tape. He’s fucking everywhere. He was at the station, and now I’m fucking terrified he’ll be at my apartment in a closet or outside my window.” “Have you been hearing things?” “No.” “That’s good, David. Now, my final question before our time is finished: How has your anxiety been?” David can’t help but laugh at that question, a dry, humorless sound. “You fucking tell me. I had a nightmare last night that I was back in the fucking warehouse; that he’d captured me and put me in another game, but this time I failed. I failed and died. I was in a fucking tube and couldn’t move, having to watch as the tube filled with human blood, and I drowned in it.” He says, wiping his eyes on his sweatshirt sleeve.

After Shelby writes for a few moments, he sets the notepad down and gives David his full attention once again, though this time he was more relaxed. “This is all very good, David. We have a lot we can work on together, a lot of issues that I can help you with resolving so that you can begin a proper healing process. I want to show you something before you leave.” He says, reaching over the arm of the chair and picking up a newspaper clipping, which he hands to David. On the clipping was a photo of a woman with blood around her mouth, looking positively terrified; the header described that she had survived the horrors of a twisted game. That game? The Reverse Bear Trap. “He’s doing it again.” David whispers, eyes wide as he thrusts the paper back at the doctor, his skin going as white as a sheet as his heart rate starts to pick up once more, but Shelby guides him through a breathing exercise, helping him calm down again. "David, look at me.” The doctor says and David obeys, looking the man directly in the face. “You will heal, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for taking the time to keep up with and read this fic! Writing this was a bit of a struggle at times, but I'm glad you all enjoyed following David on this journey with me. I truly hope I did his character justice in regards to the back story I gave him, and there WILL be a PREQUEL for him coming out at some point.
> 
> If you'd like to follow me outside of here, here are my socials:  
> Twitter: @adamswhiteshirt  
> Writing Twitter: @drippingsofapen


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